


One Song for Seventy Years

by HooperValerie



Category: Country Human, Country Humans - Fandom, Geography (Anthropomorphic)
Genre: The Internationale, Well I’m a commie I guess?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-10
Updated: 2020-09-10
Packaged: 2021-03-07 03:01:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26389840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HooperValerie/pseuds/HooperValerie
Summary: The Internationale is never forgotten.
Relationships: China&North Korea, China&Union of Soviet Socialist Republics, China&Yugoslavia
Comments: 6
Kudos: 14





	One Song for Seventy Years

**Author's Note:**

> China POV  
> We’ll interact with some of the most famous communists in this work. No romantic relationship though. In this work, they are just comrades with the strength and faith combined.  
> Some angst. A lot of hope.
> 
> Yeah English is my 2nd language so please tolerate with me. Leave kudos and comments. I loooooove them so much.

The night of Moscow was deep and solemn. The wind was softly fondling my hair.  
USSR squeezed himself next to me by the window, accordion in hand. ‘Look,’ he spoke softly, ’there are stars.’  
‘No,’ I said, ‘they are the tears of my soldiers.’  
He fell into silence and played a beautiful musical scale instead of speaking. ‘You’re winning your war.’ he comforted, ‘Peace is around the corner. And you, my comrade, will bring a better life to your people.’  
‘And we, my comrade,’ I murmured, looking at his softening face, ‘will bring a better life to everyone.’  
He smiled as the air in this little room danced. ‘Well said.’  
He took a deep breath and played his instrument. The musical notes slowly drifted with the triumphs of millions of people. ‘Arise, ye prisoners of starvation! Arise, ye wretched of the earth!’  
‘For justice thunders condemnation,’ I joined him in Chinese, ‘A better world's in birth!’  
So we sang one sentence after another. We both, our countries both, and millions of people will sing this song one sentence after another.

The noise of the tanks overshadowed the sound of the wind. I narrowed my eyes in order to block the dust. Soldiers seated themselves on the tanks, with guns and beautiful red flags in their hands.  
North Korea sat next to me, head high in the sky with so much pride.  
‘Seoul, liberated.’ he murmured, ‘My homeland, liberated.’  
I grabbed his shoulder and spoke loud enough for him to hear, ‘The whole world, liberated! ’  
He laughed. That beautiful laugh was so bright and sincere that it completely made me forget the bandage and blood stains on his head.  
‘Well, before that,’ he gently elbowed me as if it were only a scratch, ‘I will find you a pair of shoes first.’  
I glanced at my cloth shoes which were about to fall apart, deciding to forget about them. ‘Let’s sing a song!’I said.  
I stood right up on the tank, finding my balance with care. I took hold of the flag pole made of a bamboo, and sang as loud as I could: ‘No more tradition's chains shall bind us. Arise, ye slaves, no more in thrall!’  
He took my hand and stood up, beaming like the sun, ’The earth shall rise on new foundations. We have been nought, we shall be all!’  
Our tanks entered the city gate.

‘Where……Where is he?’ I asked the guard at the gate. My fingers were trembling. I tried to calm myself again and again that it wouldn’t be now and today.  
The young guard was so anxious that he was on the brink of crying. ‘I just went to the restroom and he was gone! I have no idea……’  
I told the guard to stay where he was, hoping faintly that he would come back, though I knew it was just my daydreaming. I remembered making a phone call to him last night. ‘I will call on you tomorrow,’ I had said, ’with a tasty apple.’  
He replied delightedly. However, he is a cheat like those who had left me.  
I set off to look for him without a clear destination. Maybe I knew where to find him from the bottom of my heart——he always loved those old movies, where there was a beautiful forest and a delicate bridge smiling at its reflection in the river.  
So I went deep into the forest near by and cried with so much grief:’Yugoslavia!’  
The birds were surprised to sweep past the trees. The gentle breeze spoke like a lover by my ears and all the fallen leaves rustled under my feet. But I saw nothing.  
Wasn’t he here? I thought to myself. Or , was he……  
I got rid of this terrifying idea and continued to run.  
I heard a song, so remote but familiar. I didn’t hesitate to go after the sound and saw him, who was so slim and thin, who was young but hunchbacked, who was singing: ’Tis the final conflict. Let each stand in his place!’  
I leaned against the tree and answered him with my coarse voice and broken heart: ‘The International working class Shall be the human race!’  
He stopped but didn’t look back. I stumbled to reach him and implored: ‘Come back with me. There still hope……’  
He turned around and blinked slowly. He watched me with that pair of twinkling eyes and said: ‘No. My time has come.’  
What should I say? What could I say? I was once remorseful because I wasn’t in Moscow when it happened in 1991, but now here I was, with no strength to change anything, which made me hate myself even more.  
He placed my already-dried apple into his pocket. He took my hands with all his faith in between. His eyes were filled with enthusiasm and belief. Why could he be so serene and strong?  
‘My dear comrade China, don’t shed your tears!’he said, ‘Live. Live.’  
And then he shook off my hand with all his determination and marched towards a farther place. I tried to reach him, but all I reached was only the cool air. My tears dimmed his silhouette, but his song was crystal clear.  
‘O bella, ciao! Bella, ciao! Bella, ciao, ciao, ciao!’  
The sky grew dark. I was staring at it when a thought occurred to me that the stars had been once brighter that they were now. Just like the people who were gone had been once alive.

I walked out of the Great Hall of the People through the passage. The audience had already left. Maybe I spent too much time sitting in a daze.  
I walked out of the air-conditioned room, but was stricken to a halt.  
Twenty, or thirty people were standing on the stairs of the hall. Their faces young and proud under the yellow light. They were waving flags with sickle and hammer on them, and they were singing: ’Tis the final conflict. Let each stand in his place!’  
When I came to myself, I was already among them. They were so confident that made me feel dumb because of my silence. So I opened my mouth and started singing, confident like them after a mere blink of hoarseness:’'Tis the final conflict. Let each stand in his place!’  
I joined them, waving my fists, head up high in the sky just like the old unforgettable times. Young ones, shining like the stars and tough like the mountains, made me feel like going back to those who were long gone.   
So in this moment, all the emotions I once had when I sang this song before, the ambition, the stiffness, the pain, the reluctance to say farewell, the fear of not fulfilling my dream, the determination to go as long as I could, mixed together. My tears flooded out.  
A boy saw them. He gave me a pack of tissue. He said enthusiastically: ‘Sir——Comrade! Don’t shed your tears!’  
I couldn’t help crying harder, but I had never felt so content. Because I knew I would continue my journey and I could.


End file.
